


Injury of Chance

by Crowgirl



Series: On the Strength of the Evidence [36]
Category: Grantchester
Genre: Consensual Infidelity, Established Relationship, F/M, Families of Choice, M/M, Major Character Injury, Unconventional Families
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-15
Updated: 2017-06-15
Packaged: 2018-11-14 06:34:36
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,728
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11202447
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Crowgirl/pseuds/Crowgirl
Summary: ‘Sidney, you all right?’‘Ah -- no. No, I don’t think so.’





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Kivrin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kivrin/gifts).



Geordie tucks the receiver between his ear and shoulder as he shuffles the last file on his desk back together. ‘Keating.’

‘Inspector?’

He pauses, hands still among the papers. ‘Mrs Maguire?’

‘Yes, I -- was wondering if the Reverend was with you.’

Geordie drops the last paper and takes hold of the receiver properly. ‘No, he isn’t.’ Sylvia Maguire has never ‘phoned him before and there’s a note in her voice that, were she anyone else, he would call panic. 

There’s a long moment of silence and he can almost see her eyes tracking around the front hall of the vicarage as if Sidney might appear out of the wallpaper at any moment. ‘Is something wrong?’

‘Well -- I don’t know. He went out on a sick visit just after tea and was going straight to the church for a confirmation class at six.’

Geordie glances down at his wristwatch -- it’s after nine now. ‘And he hasn’t come back?’

‘No. I -- I even telephoned the pub thinking he might be there with you but--’

‘Did you check the church?’

‘It’s been dark since eight -- I haven’t wanted to leave with Mr Finch in town for the evening but --’

Geordie pins the phone in place with his shoulder again and stands, rolling his sleeves down preparatory to putting on his coat. ‘He probably just got stuck with some parishoner, Mrs M -- Maguire.’ He winces at himself slipping into Sidney’s nickname for her, but if she noticed, she doesn’t mention it. ‘I’ll stop by on my way home and check.’ 

* * *

It wouldn’t be the first time Sidney’s fallen asleep in the vestry, Geordie thinks, turning off the car engine and elbowing his door open. He stands for a minute and surveys the church: from this angle, almost directly below the spire, it bulks huge, dark against the sky, bigger than anything else around it. 

He crunches across the gravel and pauses for a moment outside the front door but can hear nothing. The outer porch door is unlocked which is not unusual -- there’s a message board just inside the door and some of the women leave their flowers here for the decorating committee on Saturday mornings -- but the inner door to the nave is also unlocked which is unusual. The door moves a soundless inch or so when he touches it and he stops with his hand on the wood.

If Sidney had -- fallen or something on his way out of the church -- it’s more likely he’d be somewhere at the back -- and then there’s the sprawling basement which Geordie has only seen once...

As he stands, trying to decide if he should go and try the vestry door, there’s a sharp rattle and the sound of rapid steps, then heavy thud, a further rattle, and cursing. 

Geordie shoves the door open and is in the body of the church before he thinks. There’s enough light coming in the windows for him to see something dark sprawled on the carpet to his left just by the corner of the last pew and he aims for that on pure instinct. He stumbles over a cushion or sack with something heavy and metallic inside and the figure on the rug groans and tries to scrabble away from him towards the wall.

‘Sidney? What the hell are you--’ 

‘I’m over here.’ 

The voice doesn’t come from his feet, so Geordie makes a decision and grabs for where he thinks there might be a collar on the figure at his feet. He gets a double handful of worn wool and skinny shoulder. Whoever’s attached to the shoulder makes an attempt at fighting back, but Geordie simply grabs the upper arms and slams their owner into the wall with his shoulder. ‘I really wouldn’t if I were you, lad.’

There’s a breathless laugh from floor-level somewhere to his right and Geordie plants a hand between the man’s shoulder blades, shoving him firmly face-first into the stone. ‘Sidney, you all right?’

‘Ah -- no.’ There’s the sound of movement and a stifled gasp. ‘No, I don’t think so.’

‘What happ--’ The skinny shoulders make a determined effort at bucking Geordie backwards off his feet. Cursing himself for not having handcuffs or even a belt to use as a restraint, he responds by yanking the shoulders around away from the wall and, in the dim light filtering in the window above, aiming a punch for the cheekbone. 

The shoulders go limp in his grip and, when he lets go, the man slithers down the wall to land in an ungainly pile on the carpet. 

‘Where the hell are the lights?’

There’s a grunt and then a pained sigh. ‘Over -- vestry door. Choir stalls.’ 

Geordie guides himself back with a hand on the wall and when he feels the smooth texture of the doorframe, brings up his other hand to fumble for the switchplate. He finds it just around the corner of the wall where it would be mostly hidden from the congregation by a large vase of flowers. ‘Close your eyes.’ 

He closes his own and flicks up all the switches at once. It’s a glare of light even through his closed eyelids and he turns his face towards the floor and shades his eyes with one hand before opening them. He turns and starts fumbling his way back towards where he thinks Sidney is before his eyes have fully adjusted and he has to blink hard to make out what he’s seeing. 

Slumped on the floor behind the last row of pews is Freddie Tone, a scrawny little ne’er-do-well who floats back into Cambridge every now and then to visit his mother. This will be the third time Geordie’s arrested him, if he’s remembering rightly. 

Sidney is just heaving himself up to sitting against the end of the third row of pews down. He has one hand planted on the floor beside him and the other pressed against his right ribs. He squints up at Geordie and tries for a smile, but it comes out more as a grimace. ‘How’d you know?’

‘Mrs M called me.’ Geordie drops on his knees. ‘What happened?’ Now he’s closer, he can smell the sharp tang of blood and sweat.

Sidney shrugs, then grimaces again, lips pressing into a thin, tight line. He moves to push his hair off his forehead and his fingers leave a smear of red on his temple.

‘Christ, Sidney, what did he do to you?’ Geordie touches the back of the hand Sidney has pressed against his side. It _gives_ in a way Geordie knows isn’t right -- there should be muscle and bone there, not something that feels like a wet cushion.

‘Really wanted the silver, I think,’ Sidney says, leaning his head back against the side of the pew and closing his eyes. ‘Not sure why. Most of it’s rubbish.’

‘Jesus...’ Geordie fumbles in his pocket and folds his handkerchief into a thick square. ‘Lift your hand -- here --’ He presses the white linen against the immediate well of blood through the torn black cloth and puts Sidney’s hand back in place. ‘Hold that. I’ll be right back.’

* * *

Some part of Geordie’s mind admires the fact that his hands are steady enough to use the vestry telephone; another part is panicking about not being able to see -- or hear -- Sidney any more. In the end, he has to shuffle around so he can at least see the open door into the nave. At least there _is_ a ‘phone and he doesn’t have to try to scramble for the vicarage or, worse, go back to the station. The set is still shining and quite new; he can almost imagine Sidney and Leonard deciding to have it installed in case some octogenarian is overcome during a baptism.

He calls the station for an officer to come and formally arrest Freddie and take him to a cell; the ambulance; and Mrs Maguire, who sounds as if she can’t decide between being relieved Sidney is all right and annoyed that he managed to get himself injured. Geordie puts the receiver down and plants his hands on the wood of the desk for a minute, making himself take a deep breath. Then he grabs up a nearby strip of cloth and goes back out to make sure Freddie Tone doesn’t go anywhere. 

* * *

‘You do realise,’ Sidney says without opening his eyes when Geordie kneels beside him again, ‘that you used my stole as handcuffs.’

‘Your what?’ Geordie shifts Sidney’s hand carefully so he can see the handkerchief pad; there’s a faint pink stain on the top layer of cloth. Rather than move away from Sidney again, he presses the cloth in place himself, steeling himself against the sickening sense of something too soft below his hand.

Sidney sighs, his bloodstained hand falling loose on the floor beside his hip. ‘You’ll have to explain to Mrs M, that’s all.’

‘I’ll explain whatever you like.’ Geordie drops his other knee and presses harder on the pad; Sidney winces and puts his hand over Geordie’s. 

‘Seems like it shouldn’t hurt so much...such a little knife…’ Sidney’s voice trails away and Geordie grits his teeth so hard a filling in a back molar hurts. 

‘You just rest -- the ambulance’ll be here in a minute.’ Geordie puts the back of his hand against Sidney’s forehead and tilts his head to listen for wheels on the gravel. 

‘Mmm.’ If Sidney means to say anything, the words are lost and Geordie curses Freddie Tone as thoroughly as he knows how.

There’s a distinct crunch outside and the slam of a car door. 

_Thank Christ._ Geordie pushes himself up so he can see over the pews, glancing down when Sidney mumbles something. ‘In here!’ he shouts, and then drops back down to keep the pad in place. ‘Just a few more minutes -- doctor’s almost here.’

Sidney swallows and shifts, a visible twinge of pain crossing his face. His bloody hand comes up to cover Geordie’s. ‘Knew it’d be all right when you came.’


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Geordie never remembers to expect Leonard to know how to _do_ anything.

For a minute, caught up in handing Tone over to Atkins and talking to Inspector Hoggett, Geordie doesn’t realise the new arrival is Leonard. There’s just another voice in the background and, in the general noise and fuss, he hears the occasional phrase: ‘Right this way, constable -- there’s a table just here you can use -- yes, yes, of course, dust whatever you like for prints, we can clean it all up later --’

He assumes it’s another policeman -- or perhaps one of the ambulancemen -- and lets the words run on as part of the background, his attention split between the open ambulance doors and Hoggett.

‘No, we can’t move that -- the police haven’t gotten to it yet. Yes, _thank_ you, Mrs Miller, I’m sure he’ll be fine. You can check in at the vicarage in the morning if you like. Mrs Maguire, if you could just take my case -- yes, and Mrs Miller can walk that way with you--’

‘Well, I’ll take some pictures just to be sure,’ Hoggett says, when Geordie’s finished catching him up on the last hour’s events. He signals over Geordie’s head to someone. ‘And with the prints and all -- Tone’s usually fool enough to admit what he’s done. Stabbing the vicar, though --’ Hoggett makes as if to laugh, then catches sight of Geordie’s face and stops himself, coughing instead. ‘That’ll mean time.’

‘I should bloody well hope so,’ Geordie snaps before turning away in time to see the ambulance vanish down the drive. He swallows back something hard and bitter in his throat and turns on his heel to go back into the church.

‘Yes, of course you have to take them -- no, I don’t think we need a receipt -- I’m sure Inspector Keating won’t let anything go missing --’

It’s _Leonard’s_ voice he’s been hearing all this time. And Leonard he sees now, hatless but in his coat and with his scarf in one hand, standing in the spill of light from the open porch door waving Hoggett’s constable -- Bayes? Miller? Watson, perhaps? -- away with the bag of silver. 

Geordie had been prepared to turn around and see a crowd to deal with. He’d come out of the church just behind the ambulancemen who’d carried Sidney on the stretcher -- he can’t think about that right now, though he can feel the the image of it pulsing like a headache -- and Hoggett had pulled him aside almost immediately. 

Geordie had heard people more than seen them as he talked to Hoggett -- the buzz of gawkers that was the common background for a crime scene. It had been at the back of his mind that they’d be the next thing he’d have to cope with. Now -- there’s no crowd. There are a few people disappearing back into the dark towards the road, voices in conversation fading into silence and -- that’s all.

‘Yes, Mr Brant, I’m sure he’ll be fine -- the inspector found him almost immediately, didn’t you, inspector?’ Leonard is escorting an elderly man past Geordie and, for a minute, Geordie doesn’t realise he’s been directly addressed. ‘Didn’t you, inspector?’ Leonard repeats, slightly louder as the man pauses and looks dubiously at him.

‘Oh! Er -- yes, yes, I did,’ Geordie says, nodding vehemently and aware of feeling entirely wrongfooted.

The old man sniffs and strides away, not quickly enough for Geordie not to hear a muttered: ‘Good for summat anyway -- always hangin’ around --’

‘Why don’t you get on?’ Leonard says, dusting his hands as Mr Brant disappears into the darkness. ‘Mrs M’s gone to call your wife to let her know what happened and then she’ll be off to the hospital.’

‘I --’ Geordie glances back at the church, but the scene’s quiet again -- not quite as it had been when he drove up, but there are only two cars, one of them’s his, and the whole thing might be the last few stragglers exiting a late service. He feels he _must_ have missed something important but it all seems to have been taken care of without him. ‘You -- don’t need anything here?’

Leonard glances back at the open door and shakes his head. ‘No, I don’t think so. I’ll stay until the police finish and lock everything up. I know you’ll be wanting to get to the hospital.’

Geordie nods slowly, trying to cudgel his thoughts into working. During the last few minutes, he’s been aware of a creeping sense of unreality. Despite the darkness, and the relative quiet, everything feels too bright. Too loud. The church seems like a theatre set, as though he could clap his hands and restart the real world -- the one where Sidney isn’t somewhere between here and the hospital in the back of an ambulance. 

Crowd control was the next thing he needed to do, so he had prepared to do it. Now---

Leonard puts a careful hand on his shoulder and it’s all Geordie can do not to jerk back from the touch, light as it is. ‘It’s all right.’ There’s a slight hesitation, then Leonard continues more firmly, ‘Everything here is in good hands, Geordie.’

‘Yes. I can see that.’ Geordie nods and turns back towards his car, digging through his pockets for the keys. ‘I’ll just…’ It feels as though it takes him half an age to find them and extract them from the book of matches they’ve gotten tangled with. ‘I didn’t -- I wasn’t expecting you to show up --’ He waves the keys vaguely, shoving the matchbook in his trousers pocket. ‘--and just --’

Leonard smiles, a little tightly, and shrugs. ‘No, people mostly don’t. I find it’s simpler to get things done that way.’ He turns back towards the church door. ‘I’m sure I’ll see you at the hospital.’

Geordie pauses for a moment, watching Leonard walk back along the long tongue of light that leads to the porch. Not for the first time, he’s aware of having misjudged. Leonard had impressed him at the first as being so -- so essentially _daft_ and woolly-headed -- and then next to Sidney, who is so broadly competent and at least rarely _looks_ wrongfooted -- that Geordie never remembers to expect Leonard to know how to _do_ anything. 

Given that Leonard has just single-handedly arranged a small but confused crime scene, Geordie thinks as he crunches across the gravel to the car, he’s going to have to correct his impression.

**Author's Note:**

> Title from [_Troilus and Cressida_](http://www.bartleby.com/70/3544.html).
> 
> This is really the opening action for [...And Will Do None](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9340637) and then [Be It Ill or Well](http://archiveofourown.org/works/10740336).
> 
> Further to [Kivrin's](http://archiveofourown.org/users/kivrin) prompt: "Or more stabbed!Sidney?" and with all thanks to the lady herself and [Elizajane](http://archiveofourown.org/users/elizajane) for beta'ing.
> 
> [This piece now has an additional chapter courtesy of the Twelvetide Drabbles 2017 challenge.](http://archiveofourown.org/works/13248084)


End file.
